


Please Stay

by sapphicsapphire



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, a tiny godfather reference i snuck in, all the classic 00q tropes, bond breaks into q's flat, bond flirts with q on missions, but no actual sex because i'm a prudish lesbian, french!q and holmes!q if you squint, rated teen for sex talk and making out, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 12:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17022801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphicsapphire/pseuds/sapphicsapphire
Summary: Bond keeps flirting with Q while he's on missions, both over the comms and through surveillance cameras, and Q is extremely flustered.





	Please Stay

**Author's Note:**

> god i've been trying to write this for months i'm so glad i fucking finished it.

Q sighed, pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

"007, you know you don't have to shag someone on every mission you're assigned, correct?" 

Bond took his eyes off of two women at the bar and looked at the nearest surveillance camera, in the corner of the ballroom in the embassy. 

"Of course, but where's the fun in that, my darling Quartermaster?" 

The man had been in Macau for less than two hours, and he was already looking for someone to warm his bed. 

"Does sleeping with one of those poor girls help you get to Lau, at least?" Q asked. 

A casino boss had acquired MI6 documents through illegal channels, and was selling them to the highest bidder at his exclusive party tomorrow. 

"If it didn't, would I have kept the microphone on?" Bond winked, and looked away from the camera, his eyes going back to the women in their tight dresses and expensive jewellery. "Ginger or brunette, Q?" 

"I prefer blondes." He said, smiling to himself. 

007's eyes flicked back to the camera. "I like brunettes." He smirked, and made his way toward the dark haired lady. 

Q felt his cheeks heat up, and quickly shook himself off. Bond was wooing a woman right in front of his eyes, and Q was blushing like a schoolgirl over the smallest comment. He needed to get himself together. 

He watched as Bond took the woman upstairs, to one of the embassy's private apartments, and shut off the monitor, connecting the mic to his Bluetooth earpiece, as not to distract the rest of his branch. Q's blush only grew as Bond started grunting and moaning in his ear. Luckily, almost no one was in the Q-Branch this early, so there was no one around to see their Quartermaster in such a sorry state. 

Bond and the woman finished, and as she fell asleep, he wirelessly transferred the contents of her cell phone onto a thumb drive. 

"Works like a charm." Bond said, exiting the room and finding a surveillance camera. 

"Of course it does, I designed it." Q scoffed. 

007 rolled his eyes. 

"How did you know she had what you needed?" Q asked. 

"She was very loudly bragging about being emailed an invitation to Lau's party tomorrow." Bond smiled, and walked out a back exit of the embassy, heading back to his hotel. 

"Good work 007. Get some rest, and I'll be back on the line tomorrow when you're going to the party." 

"Good night Q." 

"It's six in the morning here." He laughed. 

Through the grainy capture of a traffic camera, he could see Bond smile and shake his head. 

"Of course. Forgot about the time difference." 

"Getting slow in your old age, 007?" Q smirked. 

"I can be fast when I want to be." He responded, winking at the traffic camera before turning off his mic. 

Q sunk back in his chair and sighed. Brilliant. His blush was back. 

***

Q shut the door to his flat and sighed, thumping his forehead against the cool wood. 

It had been a week and a half since Bond attended Lau's party in Macau. After a rather explosive exit, he had dropped off the map. 007 often did this, and Q knew he should be used to it by now, but his worry had only grown stronger with time, as he grew more attached to Bond. 

To make matters worse, in an attempt to take his mind off of Bond, he had re-downloaded one of those absurd dating apps gay men used for sex. (Yes that's right, re-downloaded. Only a fool would save himself for James Bond.) 

The man had been attractive, decent in bed, and had the curtesy to slip out of the apartment while Q was in the shower. 

He had, however, bore a striking resemblance to a certain double-oh agent, with his cropped blond hair and strapping physique. Every time Q found himself hooking up with a stranger, they looked far too similar to Bond. (He knew it wasn't healthy. But the doppelgängers felt so much nicer than his hand.) 

Q turned around and walked into his living room, heading for his desktop when he felt a breeze come in through an open window. A window that he had closed and locked almost an hour ago. He shut and locked it again, before pulling out his Walther from a drawer in his desk. As soon as the gun was in his hand, his lamp turned on. He spun around, and was met with an injured Bond. 

"You're bleeding on my armchair." He said, bluntly. (Honestly, should he be surprised? Of course Bond would pull this kind of nonsense.)

"I didn't know you were into men." Bloody hell, how long had he been there? How much had he heard? Seen? 

"I'm sure there's a great many things you don't know about me." Q responded, keeping the panic out of his voice. He was well versed in keeping emotions from affecting his voice, as Bond had made it his personal mission to fluster Q, through mics and surveillance cameras alike. He just hoped his face was as neutral as his voice. 

"Such as?" Bond was looking at him with an upraised eyebrow and a smirk, a mischievous glint in his eye Q only saw when the double-oh was feeling like raising a little hell. God, it's almost as if he forgot he had a reopened gunshot wound in his stomach. 

He put his gun down and took Bond's hand, dragging him into the bathroom. He pulled out his extensive first aid kit, and sat the other man down on the toilet. 

"Such as my thorough medical experience," He told Bond, cutting off the stained cloth around the wound. "and you're very lucky I let my brother convince me to study up on my training before I took this job, because you're bloody awful at stitching yourself up." 

Q walked to his sink to wash his hands, and nearly choked as he saw Bond begin to remove his shirt. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Taking off my shirt. Would've thought that was obvious." 

"I got that, thank you very much. Why are you taking off your shirt, may I ask?"

"So it's easier for you to get to the injury." Bond smirked again, and Q wished he could slap him without getting sacked. 

Q pushed down the flush in his cheeks as he worked, his hands against the skin of Bond's abdomen. He removed Bond's shoddy stitches and disinfected the wound, before stitching him back up again and placing gauze and medical tape over the cut. He also worked on the other deep gashes and grazes covering Bond's body, and then led Bond back to his living room, and sitting him back down on the bloodied armchair. 

Q turned to head for the kitchen, (and his tea) but was stopped by James wrapping his fingers around his wrist. 

"Thank you, Q." He told him, the sincerity in both his voice and eyes shocking Q. He couldn't remember the last time, if ever, Bond had thanked him for anything without sarcasm lacing his tone. It kept him frozen in place, stunned. 

"You're-you're welcome." Q stuttered. Bond let go of his wrist, and Q started for his tea, but stopped in the doorway, looking back at Bond. "You worried me, you know." 

Q fled the room, not looking back at Bond, scared of what he would see, and started the kettle. He pretended not to notice when he heard the window open. When he went back into the living room, he was greeted with a bloody armchair without its double-oh agent. He sighed, and locked the window again.

***

Bond reappeared at MI6 headquarters the next morning. By the next day, he was off again, a retrieval mission inside a Las Vegas casino. Q barely saw him, and he couldn't tell if it was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, the man had broken into his apartment, flirted with him, and left without a word, all of which was frankly quite embarrassing. His primal, idiotic, illogical side always wanted to see Bond, no matter the circumstances. 

He flicked through the different surveillance cameras, watching Bond creep through the crowds, past the slot machines and roulette tables, heading towards the centre poker table. 

Bond was at the casino tonight to gather intel on a man named Moe Greene. He was a benefactor of the casino, and extremely wealthy, but hidden. MI6 had reports that he was here to buy nuclear weapons so naturally, they sent Bond to find him. 

Through the grainy security camera he watched 007 sit down at the table, his back to Q, and asked to be dealt in. After a few rounds, the agent started whispering into the ear of the man next to him and sliding his hand down his thigh. Q rapidly flipped through cameras, trying to find one where he could see the man's face. (Why, he didn't know. He couldn't be jealous, could he?) 

Q gasped as he found the right video stream. The man was tall and skinny, his skin pale, and was dressed in a fashionable cardigan, despite the Nevada heat. Atop his head sat an unruly mop of curly brown hair, and his face was framed with glasses. 

He looked just like Q. 

Q could feel a blush mounting on his face as Bond tapped out and took the man's hand, leading him to the elevator and up to Bond's hotel room above the casino. Once in the elevator, Bond pushed the man against the wall, kissing his neck and collarbone, hands firmly attached to his waist. Bond looked up at the camera in the corner of the elevator and winked, and Q felt his soul leave his body. 

They arrived at Bond's hotel room, and with one final smirk to the camera in the hallway, Bond was in a blindspot, his mic still turned on. Q hurried to link the live feed into only his earpiece, not wanting to experience this with the rest of Q-Branch. 

Listening to Bond have sex with a woman was one thing, but listening to Bond have sex with a man who looked exactly like Q was a whole other thing entirely. Sure, Q knew Bond had slept with men before, but it had never been voluntarily. On past missions, Bond had only slept with men when they were the specific target, never because he wanted to, and certainly never a man who looked like a carbon copy of Q. 

"Q..." 

Q was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of his name coming through the earpiece. The only issue was, Bond wasn't just saying it. He was moaning it. 

His blush rose, and he turned off the mic feed entirely, flicking to the camera outside Bond's door. This was going to be a long mission. 

***

Luckily, it wasn't. Within thirty-six hours, Bond was on a flight back to England. Q was very thankful he hadn't vanished again, and was instead re-entering the country legally, and on a registered British Airways airplane flown by a licensed pilot. 

Q opened the door into his flat and sighed. The lights were on, and he could smell something cooking in his kitchen. 

"You should call ahead next time." He called, hanging up his coat next to an unfamiliar one, untying his shoes and placing them next to a pair of oxfords with fresh bloodstains that definitely didn't belong to Q. 

"Well, where's the fun in that?" Bond responded, stepping out of Q's kitchen wearing an apron embroidered with "kiss the cook", which made him blush. 

Q shook his head and smiled, brushing past him and going into the kitchen. 

"Do you like beef bourguignon? It's all I could make based on what you had in your fridge." 

Q looked at Bond incredulously. "It's- it's my favourite, actually. My maman used to make it for me all the time." 

Bond just smiled at him softly, like he knew something Q didn't. 

"You already knew that, didn't you?" 

Again, Bond just smiled, turning back to the stove. Q wanted to kiss him. 

"Thank you, James." He quickly looked at Q, his jaw dropping. 

"You've never called me James before." 

"No, I suppose I haven't." Q met his eyes and felt his knees weaken from the affection he saw. He wanted to step forwards, wrap his arms around James's waist and kiss him for an eternity but before he could muster up the courage to do so, a timer went off and James set back to work. 

After they finished eating, and Q had complimented the chef multiple times, Q began clearing up. When he finished and left the kitchen, he expected to be greeted by an empty flat and an unlocked window. Instead, James was waiting for him. 

"You stayed." He said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. 

"I almost left. But I didn't want to leave you." 

Q looked at him suspiciously. "You better not be bleeding out." 

James laughed, and stepped closer. "I'm not, I promise." 

"Why did you stay then?" 

"Maybe I didn't want to worry you. Maybe I liked seeing your smile, liked hearing you talk about your projects. Maybe I've been wanting to kiss you for ages, and I couldn't bear to go another day without knowing what your lips feel like on mine." By the time he had finished, James had backed Q up against the wall of his flat, his calloused hands on his waist. Q was blushing again, and he cursed his traitorous body. 

"Then what's stopping you?" He asked, meeting James's eyes and wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck, knowing that he'd fall over otherwise. 

"Nothing anymore." And suddenly, all at once, James Bond was kissing him. Just like everything James did, he put all of his passion into kissing, moving his lips in ways that had Q struggling to keep up. 

James kissed down his jaw and up to his ear, whispering huskily, telling him to jump. Q willingly complied, trying not to moan as James kissed his neck and lead them to Q's bedroom. 

James gently laid him down on his bed, and Q immediately tugged him forward by his tie, pulling the agent down against him. 

"You're wearing too many clothes." He murmured into their kiss, swiftly flipping James over so he was sitting in his lap, and started pulling off his shirt and tie. James did the same to him, leaving love bites as he did so. 

When he had gotten his shirt off, James sat back and looked at Q in admiration. If Q's blush wasn't already prominent, it certainly was now. 

"What?" Q asked. 

"You just look really beautiful right now, that's all." He said smiling, before pulling him down for another earth-shattering kiss. 

***

After a second round of the best sex Q had ever had, and another quickie in the shower, Q found himself wrapped in James's arms, his head on his chest. He looked up at the man above him and raised his hand to cup the side of his face, his thumb tracing his lips. 

"How will I know you'll still be here when I wake up?" Q quietly asked. 

Jame's eyes softened, and he gave Q a gentle kiss and pulled him closer before responding. 

"You're not a one night stand Q, and you're certainly not one of the girls I shag while on missions. I care about you." 

Q smiled, a weight lifted off of his shoulders, and kissed James back. "I'm glad you don't just want me for sex." 

"The sex is a perk though." James smirked, his normal demeanour back. Q playfully hit him on the shoulder. 

"We both know you've been thinking about fucking me for a while." Q tried not to grin too smugly when James's cheeks turned pink. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Well, my doppelgänger in Las Vegas certainly does, seeing as you were moaning my name instead of his." James groaned and hit his forehead. 

"Don't worry, I thought it was cute." Q laughed, kissing James on the cheek before cuddling up to him. 

He had never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! follow my tumblr for more bullshit! @ambersdyke


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